


The Order of the Traitor

by Baelkaz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 06:44:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7089637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baelkaz/pseuds/Baelkaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where Peter Pettigrew makes a different choice, what could happen? Birds of a feather flock together, and traitors need all the trustworthy company they can get. Peter, Severus, and Regulus find they have a common goal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Peter's Choice

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Your friendly neighborhood baelkaz here, working to increase the very small amount of Good!Pettigrew stories out there. Feel free to talk to me about the story or whatever on tumblr at officialbaelkaz

Halloween, 1981:

The crack of apparition echoed through the glen as James Potter stepped out of thin air. The purposeful nature of his stride and the steely glint in his eyes left no question as to why he was there. James Potter had come to kill.

His steps were quick and reaching, as he moved across the damp ground. Almost running, he grew closer to the ramshackle home and its boundaries. The wards fizzed and crackled as he walked through them, recognizing his malicious intent, but keyed to his person already. It seemed the magic was fighting itself over whether or not James should be granted passage. James paid them no mind.

In what seemed like no time at all to him in his rage, but had in reality taken almost five full minutes, he had moved through the syrupy ward boundaries and arrived at the front door. He raised his fist and pounded, drawing his wand with the other hand.

"WORMTAIL!" James snarled. "COME OUT, YOU TRAITOR!" He listened carefully and heard the telltale scuttling of Peter's noisy panic. _"Bombarda!"_ he incanted, and the door was blasted off its hinges, flying inward as if struck by a cannonball. "I know you're here, you bastard!" James yelled into the sitting room.

"James!" Peter gasped. "I-I know what you must be t-thinking, but y-you've got to l-listen to me!" He stammered.

"You killed them, Peter." James said coldly, stepping into the room. "They're dead. And it's because of you. You betrayed them. You RAT!" He seethed. _"Depulso!"_

The banishing curse blasted Peter into the back wall, and he tasted blood. His vision flickered, blackness creeping in at the edges and threatening to push him into unconsciousness. But Peter knew that if he let that happen, he'd wake up in Azkaban. Or he might not wake up at all. He gulped.

"J-James…" Peter tried again, "Please… listen… it's—it's not what you think."

"You sold Lily and Harry to Voldemort, Peter." James spat, although the rage was dying in his eyes. Maybe it was seeing a man he once called friend lying in a heap because of his own spell, or maybe even the thought of his wife and son had pushed the thought of murder out of his head. "Nothing you can say will change that."

"T-they're alive." Peter choked out. It was all he managed before the darkness completely swept over him, and he passed out.

* * *

Three years earlier, Halloween 1978:

  
The scene swam to the forefront of Peter’s mind.

"You're serious about this, are you?" Peter asked skeptically.

"I swear," Sirius nodded, "On my honor, Wormy, I made out with Marlene at her own wedding."

"He's lying," James rolled his eyes exasperatedly, "Honestly, Pete, you'll fall for anything. It's a wonder you're not broke with all the scam artists out there selling phony protections from Voldemort."

Peter fingered his amulet nervously. "What do you mean, 'phony' protections?"

Sirius let out a barking laugh. "Don't tell me you bought one!" He snagged the piece of metal from Wormtail's neck. "And one of Dung's too! Wormy, even you've gotta know that you can't trust anything from that man! You're so dense!"

And they laughed. James and Sirius. They laughed at him. It was that memory that Peter used when he had to go through his Death Eater initiation that cold night on October 31, 1978. Lucius Malfoy had come to him and told him that there was a spot open, and all he needed to do to prove his loyalty to the Dark Lord was to cast an unforgiveable of his choice on a person of their choice. So, when presented with Marlene McKinnon on that fateful night, Peter conjured up the worst memory he had of her. The time his best friends had laughed at him. It didn't have anything to do with her, really, but that didn't matter. The Cruciatus Curse left his wand and it felt perfect. It felt right. He was in control, for the first time ever. Malfoy actually had to tell him to stop. They couldn't risk her going insane yet, she still had information on the Order. Information that Peter might not have.

After he released the curse, Peter felt the biggest wave of guilt and fear crash into him. He'd never felt more disgusted in his life. He'd just tortured a woman. More than that, he'd tortured his friend. And he had to be made to stop.

Peter nodded along to Malfoy's words after that. He made the occasional sound of agreement, and kept his eyes lowered to Malfoy's feet, being sure to show respect. But that was all reflex. His entire mind was occupied with self-loathing, and fear. For the first time in months, ever since Malfoy had first approached him with the blackmail that led him to where he currently stood, it was a different fear. It wasn't fear of what would happen to him, but a fear of what was happening to him. There was something seriously wrong.

Vaguely Peter registered that he was to report to Malfoy once a month, and have no contact with any other Death Eaters, and especially have no contact with the Master, who was far too important for someone like him. It might have been that that changed his mind. The fact that even here, on the side of power, on the side of selfishness, he didn't matter. On the side where Peter had been promised everything he could have ever wanted, even in his darkest daydreams, he had nothing, and he meant nothing.  
Peter Pettigrew decided on that night, October 31, 1978, the night that he joined the Death Eaters and received his mark, that he would work against them from the inside.

* * *

 

November 7, 1978:

A week had passed since that night, and Peter had finally decided what to do. The only thing he was sure of was that he wanted to oppose what the Death Eaters were doing. Sure, he was in the Order of the Phoenix, but with the Dark Lord knowing all their plans, it was pretty useless. He had to turn the tables. It was entirely his fault they were losing anyway. Well, his and Marlene's, but that was sort of his fault too.

After days of thinking, he had narrowed it down to either telling James, or telling Dumbledore. Dumbledore would use him, and James would help him. But did Peter want to be helped? After all he had done… He still couldn't forget the look on Marlene's face before he tortured her. It would haunt him forever. She had pleaded with him, and he had tortured her. No. He couldn't tell James. James would want to help him, and Peter didn't deserve help. He had given up that right the second he had uttered that curse.

Peter was a tool now. A weapon to be used against the Dark Lord.

So, six days and five hours after his induction into Voldemort's ranks, Peter went to go see the Headmaster.

He appeared in Hogsmeade with a quiet pop. Peter was never particularly good in school, but apparition was always a strong point for him. He was the first Marauder to get it down, and the only one to this day that could apparate quietly. The more air you took with you when you disapparated, the louder the crack, and Peter was always very precise.

He took a moment to gather himself and look around. If Malfoy had taught him one thing, it was to be wary of his surroundings. He was fairly certain nobody was watching him, but regardless, he went into the Hog's Head, and occupied a bathroom stall before changing into his rat form and scurrying away. As Wormtail, Peter made it all the way to the Honeydukes undetected, and hurried down into the secret passageway towards Hogwarts.

Coming out at the One-Eyed Witch Statue, Peter transformed back into a human, confident that no Death Eaters would be at Hogwarts on a random Tuesday morning at 5 AM. Closing the passage behind him, Peter started making his way toward the Headmaster's office. Twenty-five minutes later, he came face to face with Dumbledore's gargoyle. He smiled wryly, the first smile he'd had in a week. Time for his favorite game from his school days.

"Pumpkin Pasties?" he guessed. Nothing. "Bertie Botts? Chocolate Frogs? Droobles'? Blood Lollipops? Gummi-Wands?" It took him about 3 more minutes before arriving at, "Mars Bars" to open the stairway. Peter grinned. It did usually turn out to be Muggle.

Arriving at Dumbledore's door, he paused. This was it. No turning back from this course. The Dark Lord would find out. And when he did, he would certainly kill him. James and Sirius and Remus would find out. They would hate him. He would be alone again. It would be so easy to turn around, sneak back out into Hogsmeade, and pretend this never happened. He could continue to serve Voldemort. He could have whatever he wanted. He could do whatever he pleased.

Marlene's face flashed in front of his eyes again. He knocked.

As it turned out, Dumbledore was a heavy sleeper. It took almost five minutes of repeated banging on the Headmaster's door before he came to answer. What really interested Peter was that he never seemed to lose his nerve. Every one of those 300 seconds, he could in fact feel his resolve strengthening.

When Albus finally opened the door, he looked more ancient and burdened than ever. The ongoing war was obviously taking a toll on the old man that he didn't let on about in his professional life.

"Mr. Pettigrew," He intoned, as if confused, "How can I help you so early in the morning?"

"I'm sorry for the intrusion, Headmaster," Peter said, blatantly intruding past Albus into his office. "I have some information for you."

"Knowledge, my boy, is of course always welcome." Dumbledore muttered sleepily.

"I can give you information on Voldemort." Peter said, looking intently at the old man, as if daring him to doubt him.

It was as if Dumbledore was suddenly injected with two dozen Pepper-Up Potions. His advanced age seemed to vanish in a second as the gaze and stance of a General replaced his normal disguise of the kindly old man. He moved with purpose as he followed Peter into the office, sinking into a chair opposite him. The normal twinkle was gone, and now eyes reflecting only pure determination glared at Peter underneath his wrinkled brow. This was certainly a man who would do anything to defeat Voldemort. The perfect person to come to, Peter thought, for me to be of use.

"Anything you can tell me, my boy, I'm willing to hear." Dumbledore said.

Peter took a deep breath. Now or never. "I-I need to tell you something," Peter muttered, "I... I met with Malfoy. About... About joining Him."

Dumbledore's eyebrows seemed to vanish into his hairline. He fingered the wand at his hip as he asked his next question.

"And why would you come to me with such information?" He asked cautiously.

"Because... because I can't do it." Peter whispered into his hands, holding his face and shaking slightly. "I can't keep being the person they expect me to be. I can't do it ever again. I won't..."

Dumbledore observed the man in front of him, shivering, holding his head in his hands, obviously in extreme distress. He felt an odd mixture of pity and caution, unsure if he could trust Pettigrew after his confession, yet feeling an odd sort of kinship with him. Albus himself knew the temptation that power could hold over the weak-minded, and Pettigrew had never been described as a strong minded individual. He stayed silent, waiting for Peter to compoe himself and continue.

"Marlene... Mar-Marlene... It was me. It was my fault... the McKinnons, Dorcas Meadowes, the twins' parents... It was me..." Albus watched as the young man broke down in his office. As each of those faces flashed past his eyes, Albus heard his own promise to them that he would do his best to keep them safe, and ruthlessly pushed down the raging feeling of vengeance that roared in his chest. Everything had fallen into place. The strangely high rate of failure on recent missions, the amount of people being captured instead of killed, and the growing unease among the Order that there might be a traitor. He kept a straight face as the man who betrayed everything Albus stood for confessed in front of him.

"Peter," Albus began, struggling to hold down the fury he felt inside, "Tell my why. Why did you betray your friends?"

Peter remained silent for a short while. To both him and Albus, it seemed to be ages, though the pause was likely less than a minute.

"I never felt important." He whispered at last. "The Dark Lord promised me a seat in his Inner Circle for information on the Order. i would've been someone. I would've been more than... than boring old sidekick, Peter Pettigrew."

Albus felt sick. He wanted to kill the sniveling man in front of him. He could fell the Elder wand calling for blood. He wanted so badly to give in to the rage and end this miserable rat's existence. But he forced himself to do otherwise.

"You said you could give me information on Voldemort." Dumbledore said, looking anywhere but Peter. He couldn't bring himself to look into Peter's eyes. He couldn't bring himself to look into Peter's mind and understand the the atrocities of the betrayals he'd committed.

"I can," Peter mumbled, "I will." His voice was growing stronger. "A few days ago, I joined Voldemort's ranks forever."

Albus's eyes flashed dangerously. He had heard enough rumors of what such an initiation entailed. If Peter had actually gone through with such a thing...

Peter pulled back his sleeve to reveal his new Dark Mark. It still burned, as if afflicted by Fiendfyre, forever crawling along his skin, causing the most intense pain that he had gone numb in that spot forever. He knew that should the Dark Lord's magic be removed from the tattoo, the pain would drive him insane. "This is my Mark," Peter said unnecessarily. "I... I tortured Marlene for it."

Then he was on his back. Albus was on his feet, a wand in Peter's face, and the old man's face was the most livid expression of hatred and pain. Peter could tell he would be unable to move if he tried.

"WHY?!" Dumbledore yelled, spit flying from his mouth, and his eyes burning holes into Peter's. This was the man that Voldemort was afraid of. This was the Leader of the Light. "YOU ANSWER ME, PETTIGREW. YOU WERE HER FRIEND." He seemed to lose some of his fire now. "You were her friend." He said again, as if questioning it.

Peter stared down the wand, strangely accepting of his current predicament. If Dumbledore killed him, he thought, he would have no regrets. At least Marlene and Adam and Dorcas and Veritas and Horus would have their revenge on him. And he deserved it.  
"If you'll let me, Professor," He said, licking his lips, "I'd like to give you all the information I have before you kill me."

Albus rocked back on his heels. He had no idea what to do, for what was maybe the fourth time in his life. He stepped back, not lowering his wand. He nodded slowly.

Peter nodded and sat up slowly, remaining on the floor. "About a week ago, I met with Lucius Malfoy. He... proctored... my final test to join the Dark Lord's ranks. Marlene... I..."

Albus nodded. "I know what you did. I can live without hearing the details of the poor girl's suffering. Is she alive?"

Peter nodded. "Malfoy... stopped me. HE took her away. To be questioned. Halloween night."

Albus's mind whirled. "We could still get to her. Where are they?"

Peter shook his head. "I don't know." Dumbledore's wand advanced on his face again. "I really don't," Peter met his eyes, "I'm nowhere near high enough in the ranks to know where the Dark Lord spends his time. Believe me when I say that Marlene is a lot of the reason I'm here. I would help if I could." He finished sadly.

"What can you give me?" Dumbledore demanded.

"Names, and he location that I've been ordered to next report to." Peter responded immediately.

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully, slowly lowering his wand arm. "If that's all, then you're barely worth keeping alive." He called over his shoulder.

Peter flinched. "I-I'll give my life, if that's what you want. Marlene deserves it."

Albus sat behind his ornate desk, drawing comfort and calm from the ancient seat of power that Headmasters over the ages had occupied. He looked behind him at some of portraits of leaders past for guidance. Most were fairly useless, never having to make a serious decision in their life, but others were often a source of great advice and assistance. Torres Lionheart, the first Headmaster of Hogwarts and Godric Gryffindor's grandson was usually helpful in matters of the Light. Gaius Kilkenny was always quick to offer his opinion on how he would handle current events, being famous for dispatching the Dark Lord of his own time. Julius Cass could never keep his painted mouth shut when it came to his favorite method of execution for traitors, which of course applied to anyone from Pettigrew to first years in detention.

After several minutes of contemplation, Albus smiled. It was the sort of devious smile that would make the Grinch jealous, Peter thought.

"Well, Peter, you'll be happy to know I won't take your life for your betrayal. Instead, you'll be given a sentence."

Peter gulped. It may have been exactly the reason he came to Albus in the first place, but he was still nervous about the old man's decision.

"You'll be staying a Death Eater, you'll be staying in Voldemort's Inner Circle, and you are going to spy for me until the day you are found out."


	2. A Mission Overseas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slight skip forward in time for a look at Peter's service.

February 3, 1980:

Peter couldn’t breathe. Shapes blurred and colors rushed past. This was taking far too long. He considered Apparition to be one his talents, and in fact, he was quite good at it. But this was taking too long.

Apparition had been studied extensively after its discovery by English magic users in the advent of invading Roman armies. Rome had brought dozens of new magical concepts to the Isles, but Apparition, to a war-torn culture, was the most beneficial. Of course, Splinching was quickly discovered. It was found that apparition was near instantaneous for the travelling wizard, but in fact took seconds for everyone else, the time increasing based on the distance travelled. A wizard apparating a mile would experience perhaps two dozen nanoseconds, whereas the rest of the world would experience 5 seconds. The big question was distance. How far could a wizard apparate? The answer was hotly debated for centuries. Marcellius Alardear was credited with the first round-the-globe apparition in circa 875 AD, although it was later pointed out that no one could’ve known the difference between travelling 360 degrees around the earth, and simply travelling a meter backwards. Eventually, the International Confederation of Warlocks outlawed apparition over borders, both to save lives in cases of carelessness, and to avoid any international incidents.

It was this law that was on Peter’s mind as he hurtled through the colorful bone crushing void. Of course Albus would need an operative in New Zealand and absolutely could not wait. Of course Peter was the best Apparator he knew. Of course. But it was taking far too long. Did circumapparating the globe really take this long? And time was already different for him. If he was experiencing an apparition of what must have been already 20 seconds, then for the rest of the world, he might have been gone for an hour. This was not good, considering apparition robbed you of several important functions. Like breathing. And pumping blood.

_CRACK_

Peter fell to ground, gasping for breath. He was definitely not doing that again, and damn the old man if he asked. He slowly pulled himself upright and took a quick inventory. The lack of splitting pain anywhere in his body seemed a good sign, but he could be in shock. Indeed, he seemed to be missing a toenail on his right foot. That’s what he got for recounting History of Magic lectures while apparating. Damnit. His spotless apparating record out the window, Peter finally took in his surroundings. Small trees all around and the distinct smell of a decomposing muggle landfill. He had been aiming for wilderness, somewhere far from the New Zealand Ministry of Magic. He was undoubtedly breaking a lot of laws, and planned to break more. In fact, there was a good chance that someone would be here soon, investigating the fallout of that ward he’d shattered on his way into the country’s magical borders.

Peter pushed himself onto his wobbling legs and took a deep breath. Once more. He concentrated and turned on the spot, vanishing with a faint pop and reappearing at the public apparition spot in the bustling Punctu Alley. He would be able to lose himself in the throng of passing wizards and witches and any pursuers would almost definitely lose him. He turned and moved towards the pub, The Stewed Newt, and looked around at the people seated at tables. One family had just paid their bill and was rising to leave. Peter slid his wand into his hand, inconspicuously casting nonverbal beacon charms onto every member of a family, spreading his magical signature out, as Dumbledore had suggested.

He ordered a large mug of butterbeer and a premium cut steak. It was the old man’s money, after all. He ate slowly and watched the family disappear through the Pub’s Floo. Less than five minutes later, a series of cracks echoed around the alley and four wizards in black robes streaked with silver stepped through the door, wands out and eyes darting back and forth.

 Peter looked up from his meal, doing his best to look as surprised as everyone else around him. It had taken them longer than he thought. Maybe the tracker was a rookie. He watched one, wearing a red armband, step up and begin to interrogate the bartender, while the other three began casting detection spells. As a halo appeared over his head, Peter guessed that one had cast _Hominem Revelio._ Of course that wouldn't have worked if he was hidden in his rat form, as he'd wanted. But Albus said no, no transforming this time. It wouldn't do for this same rat to keep being seen at all of these scenes of the crime, he had said. Instead, Peter had been provided access to a rather large fund for buying Polyjuice Potion from Knockturn Alley. Currently, he was taking the form of one of Rosmerta’s regulars. Fletcher or something.

 He watched with a suppressed glee as the New Zealand Aurors that had crowded around the Floo grate shouted for the one at the bar and they all vanished in green flames. He had to move now. He stood, carefully wiping his mouth and placed 2 galleons on the bar. Taking a handful of Floo Powder from the hearth, he threw it down and called “Ministry of Magic.”

 It was hard enough to track a magical signature through the Floo, since you weren’t using your own magic to travel. Now that the Aurors had followed his false trail, by the time they returned, his own trail would be so diminished it would be impossible to track.

 Peter stepped out of the fire into the Grand Hall of the New Zealand Ministry. This would be a difficult mission. It would be so easy to transform… But no, Albus said not to. And Peter wasn’t stupid enough to believe that he had been told all the reasons for that decision. Dumbledore had always played things close to the chest and Peter by no means was owed his trust.

 He sighed, and started forward. He had to find this informant Albus had told him about. Some low tier employee had some information on Death Eater movements and thought that Albus Dumbledore absolutely _needed_ to know immediately. Peter moved towards the reception desk and tapped his fingers on the counter to get the clerk’s attention. The man looked up from a book and sighed as if doing his job was the greatest inconvenience in the world. It seemed like some things were the same across borders, Peter thought. Desk clerks never liked their jobs.

 “Good evening, sir, and welcome to The Ministry of Magic,” he said lamely. “Our exhibit of Māori artwork is currently closed for the day, and-”

 “That’s fine, I’m looking for a Ms. Pentapore?” Peter interrupted him.

The young man nodded and blinked to barely conceal an eye roll. He bent down and opened a filing cabinet and began to scan through the names, flicking through them quickly, as though hoping to send this annoyance on his way as quickly as possible. After a few moments, he stood and nodded.

 “One Ms. Jennsen Pentapore is employed in the Department of Magical Research and Development.” The clerk read off the card he was holding.

 “What floor might that be?”

The man fixed him with a look as if speaking with Peter was physically paining him. “1425.”

Peter stared, but the man had already gone back to his book. There were that many floors in this building? He assumed magic must play some part. The world’s strongest undetectable extension charm, perhaps? He shrugged and followed the small flow of people further down the hall.

He came to a large archway after a turning a few corners. Peter gaped. It must have been 40 feet across and at least 50 feet tall. It seemed like a rather grand entryway for the plain room beyond it, which included only a short hallway painted blue, with three unassuming wooden doors coming off of it. Peter had begun to start forward and try a door when the image shimmered and vanished, replaced by a much longer hallway, painted a different color (bright red) and with a reception desk at the end. He stopped in his tracks and stared.

 “Oh! Sorry about that, young man.” An old gentleman in grey robes at the side of the room said. He sat behind a large desk and had what looked like an old Muggle switchboard behind it. It reminded Peter of what his grandmother used to use. “Were you trying to get to 1350?” He asked.

 Peter shook his head. “I’m uh… I’m looking for 1425?”

 The man nodded and smiled. “First time seeing the time bubble? I’d be happy to help, but there is a bit of a line.” He gestured towards the crowd Peter had been following. “Shift change and all that. I’ll put your year in the queue.”

 Peter’s eyes widened. His year in the queue? So 1425 wasn’t a floor. It was a time. The New Zealand Ministry was all in one place, on top of itself on the same floor by having each department in the same place at a different time! \

 “How does this work?” He asked the old man at what he now realized was an operating station.

 “One moment, lad. LAST CALL FOR 1075!” The man called out. He waited a moment, scanning the crowd before his fingers danced over the buttons and he said: “Beginning entrance for 800!”

 The archway shimmered again and a new room appeared beyond it. This one looked an awful lot like a courtroom.

 The man sat back and smiled at Peter. “This one’ll be open for a while, this crowd is mostly spectators for the Wulfric Trial. So! First time, huh? My name’s Gregor, by the way. I’m the Arch Operator here.”

 Peter took his proffered hand and shook it firmly. “Pleasure. My name’s... Lucius Skyfoy.” Totally not suspicious at all. But apparently Gregor had never heard of Lucius Malfoy and had never seen Star Wars, because he didn’t comment.

 “This Time Bubble was discovered by wizards here in 1704 during attempts to create a magical school. However, when you’re in the Bubble, time slows for you. As near as our Arithmancers can tell, it at least multiplies it by eight. We space departments 25 years apart in the bubble, so it’ll be 200 years outside before they collide with each other. Naturally, people want their children to grow up, so the government decided to build their school elsewhere, and put their headquarters inside the bubble. It sounds selfless, put like that, but really I think they just wanted to live eight times longer.” Gregor laughed.

 “That is amazing.” Peter agreed. “Didn’t I hear about one of America’s schools doing something similar? Alma something?”

 “Aye, but Alma Aleron’s got a different type of bubble. Still, it’s a lot easier to hide in Time from the Muggles than in Space.” Gregor shrugged. “You English pour so much magic into your Notice-Me-Not wards that we can spend elsewhere.”

 Peter nodded thoughtfully, broken out of his daydreaming moments later by Gregor shouting, “1425! All for R&D, entrance is open!”

 Peter smiled and stood, thanking him for his company, setting off through the arch with two other wizards. The New Zealand Department of Magical Research and Development was impressive, but nowhere near the aesthetic that the British Department of Mysteries held. Here, everything screamed “bright and creative” as opposed to the dark and well… mysterious vibe that the DOM gave off.

 He walked into the middle of the room, which interestingly enough had a slide, as if stolen right out of a muggle children’s playground. Peter looked around for someone who didn’t seem busy and could give him directions. He ended up stopping a young girl who looked like an intern and asking her if she knew Jennsen Pentapore. The girl’s eyes darted over his shoulder.

 “Hello, Wormtail.” said the voice of Bellatrix Lestrange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alma Aleron is a borrowed concept from G. Norman Lippert's James Potter series. Thanks for reading!


End file.
